For Old Times Sake
by Hannah7876
Summary: Crawford tracks down Will Graham to help him find Starling when she goes missing from Muskrat Farm. ~ Completed
1. Chapter 1

**PART 1**

  
  
"Why are you here, Jack?"   
  
"Will, just listen to me for 5 minutes..."   
  
"Why should I?"   
  
"Because you know what he is."   
  
"Are you making the case for or against?" But he stepped back and let Crawford through the door of the shabby apartment.   
  
"He has one of my agents, Will. And the goddamn Bureau isn't going to do a thing about it."   
  
"And just what do you think_ I'm_ planning to do about it, Jack? What's_ your_ plan, while we're at it... to get me killed too?"   
  
"You know I wouldn't ask if I had any other options."   
  
"Do I? You wanna know what I think, Jack? I think you'd sell your mother to get Lecter." As always, Crawford flinched slightly at the mention of the name – or perhaps it was the accusation. Either way, it gave Graham a grim satisfaction. He pressed on before the great man could object. "I damn well know that you already sold _me_ once, so I'm not feeling too good about going up for bid a second time. Or is it a third? I lost count."   
  
Will walked over to the coffee table and refilled his near empty glass of Cuervo. He downed it in one shot and set it down to pour another without asking if Jack would care to join him. Jack wouldn't be here that long.   
  
"You're the only one I know of who might have a chance to catch him in time to do her any good." His voice was quiet, but there was a steely determination in his eyes.   
  
That was just like Jack, to avoid anything that Graham might have to say and plow ahead with this ill-conceived pitch to convince him to throw up his hands and casually step straight back into hell.   
  
"I've already done that once. Why not let someone else have a turn?"   
  
"I did... and now the sonofabitch has her," Crawford growled.   
  
"What makes you think she's alive at all? Lecter isn't the type to take in 'guests.' It's been over a month, Jack. Face it, your agent is lunch."   
  
"Not this one." His voice held an odd mixture of hope and regret. "This one he'll hold onto."   
  
"Alright, what makes you so certain?"   
  
"He's fascinated by her... I can only imagine why. He won't kill her... at least not for awhile. She won't be so lucky."   
  
"There's no history of any sexual component to Lecter's... hobbies, Jack."   
  
"I know what I know," Crawford said stubbornly.   
  
"So you want me to drop everything and rush out to save my successor from a fate worse than death? That is presuming I have even one fucking clue about where to look."   
  
"Will..."   
  
"Go home, Jack."   
  
"You don't have to get anywhere near it, Will. Just take a look at these...."   
  
"Go home, Jack."   
  
He'd heard that one before. Before Molly left. Before his life had gone to shit.   
  
"Just take a look and tell me what you think, Will."   
  
"I think you should go home, Jack."   
  
Crawford gave a ponderous sigh and dropped the thick files and a cassette tape onto the coffee table next to the bottle. He turned and walked to the door.   
  
"And don't leave that shit here. Take your damn files with you!"   
  
"You know where to find me if you change your mind." He opened the door and stepped through it without even looking around.   
  
"Fuck you, Jack!" Graham yelled it at the closing door, throwing his half-empty glass after his former boss for good measure.   
  
Just short of six weeks later, Crawford was dead and Graham was staring at the goddamn files wishing he'd burned the whole fucking mess when he had the chance.   
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**PART 2**

  
  
With a resigned sigh, Graham poured himself a large glass of Cuervo and dropped onto the couch to begin picking through the file on Special Agent Clarice Starling. Lecter's file and the cassette tape he left conspicuously untouched.   
  
Jack had been thorough... all of her information in regards to the Bureau as well as her reports on her interviews with Lecter.   
  
_ You knew I wouldn't revisit his file, didn't you Jack? At least not right away... but you wanted to make sure I had the proper feel for the whole thing. How thoughtful of you.   
  
_ Graham sneered and set those pages aside for the moment. Good old Jack had amassed quite an impressive collection of articles from various tabloids as well, including the National Tattler.   
  
_ Oh boy, my favorite! _  
  
Too bad old Freddy hadn't lasted for this round.   
  
_** A brief note of congratulations for the job you did on Mr. Lounds. I admired it enormously. **   
  
_ He shook his head and stood. Why the fuck was he bothering with this shit? He wasn't planning to do anything with the information and he sure as hell had had enough of Hannibal Lecter to last him several lifetimes! Dammit! Why did he think he owed Jack Crawford _anything_, let alone _this_?   
  
He drained his glass and poured another one. He even managed to down half of it in a single gulp before his attention was drawn back to the clippings.   
  
The 'Bride of Dracula' series in the National Tattler was by far the most lurid of the early ones. There was also an unfortunate picture that was taken during an incident at Split City Mini-Storage – Clarice Starling, FBI trainee, standing on the ankle of a television news cameraman who appeared to be wedged under the door to a storage unit. Starling was brandishing a jack handle. _Not_ a stellar beginning to her career. Leave it to the Tattler to make sure_ that_ saw print no less than half a dozen times over the course of her 7 years with the Bureau.   
  
There was one nice short piece from People magazine after the rescue of Catherine Martin.   
  
"Someone wasn't paying attention if that one managed to get through," Graham muttered with a humorless snort.   
  
Then there were the more recent clippings...   
  
**"DEATH ANGEL: CLARICE STARLING, THE FBI'S KILLING MACHINE"**   
  
That was the worst from the fiasco at the Feliciana fish market, the mess that had resurrected the past.   
  
_ Once again, the National Tattler comes out ahead. _  
  
The Tattler was also quick to speculate when Starling was suspended and even quicker when she disappeared altogether. Graham finally worked his way to the last of the mountain of clippings, and sat staring at the other file and that damn cassette tape.   
  
Lecter's file Graham was far too familiar with - the early stuff at least. The tape was new to him, though he had read a transcript in one of the clippings from the Tattler. It _had_ been the basis for their 'Bride of Dracula' series, after all. It seems that Frederick Chilton - Graham never _had_ liked him much - had taped Starling's final conversation with Lecter in Baltimore. The Tattler must have been the highest bidder.   
  
Reluctantly, Will took the tape, stood up and put it in his player. He was not particularly anxious to hear Lecter's voice again after all these years, but a transcript could only tell him so much. He needed to _hear_ the interaction, take a reading on the tenor of the exchange. Maybe he could get a sense for what Lecter might want with her. Besides, he heard Lecter's voice far too often without benefit of tape recordings, so what the hell did it matter, really?   
  
He pressed play.   
  
So this was Starling. She sounded so calm. Where was the nervousness that should be running like an undercurrent in her voice? He leaned in closer to the speakers, straining to hear any hint of discomfort.   
  
**_ "If I decline?"  
"Maybe you could hang some café curtains in there. It might help. We don't have anything to threaten you with, Dr. Lecter. What I've got is a way for you to see daylight." _**   
  
She wasn't afraid of him.   
  
_ Were you ever? Maybe at first but not for very long, I'll bet. _  
  
**_ "...Quid pro quo. I tell you things and you tell me."  
"Go." _**   
  
No hesitation. Graham couldn't conceive of anyone who might actually be comfortable with Lecter... but that's exactly what she seemed to be.   
  
**_ "The time clock. What happened to it after your father was shot?"  
"I don't remember."  
"If you do remember, will you tell me?"  
"Yes. Wait – the mayor came to the hospital and asked my mother for the clock and the badge..." _**   
  
Dear God! She didn't hesitate for even a fraction of a second. Surely she couldn't have trusted him? Still, she let him pull memories out of her, made revelations to him as easily as though she were in session with her therapist. Didn't she understand how dangerous that was?   
  
**_ "On what basis would they reject him, what would show up?"  
"You're very quick, Clarice." _**   
  
Was that a _compliment_ – from _Lecter_?   
  
**_ "Why don't you ask Dr. Bloom?"  
"I'd rather ask you." _**   
  
_ I'll bet you would. _  
  
Graham shook his head, perplexed and more than a little disturbed.   
  
**_ "What will you get out of this, Clarice, a promotion and a raise? What are you a G-9? What do little G-9's get nowadays?"  
"A key to the front door, for one thing. How would he show up on the diagnostics?"  
"How did you like Montana, Clarice?"  
"Montana's fine." _**  
  
Will felt himself shudder. Their exchange had the rhythm of a well-choreographed dance, and Starling hadn't missed a step.   
  
**_ "How far did you get?"  
"I got about as far as I'm going until you break down the diagnostics for me." _**   
  
She _matched_ him, round for round with no hesitation, no apparent discomfort.   
  
_ You thought he talked with you, but that wasn't quite it, was it Will? You believed there was some grudging respect because you caught him, but that wasn't it at all. He **talked** with Starling, you he toyed with. And why not? He had nothing better to do. He knew... he always knew where to strike. He only needed the opportunity to get close enough to draw blood.   
  
No need to go there right now. Let's just move on… _  
  
No wonder the Tattler had called her the 'Bride of Dracula' after hearing this thing! The rapport between them was... spooky. She wasn't just holding up well; she _liked_ him. She knew exactly what he was... and some part of her liked him. That was obvious - to Graham at least.   
  
_ How did you not see it, Jack? Did you want her **that** much? _  
  
Almost as surprising, Lecter liked _her_, respected her. Of course that wouldn't stop him from killing her when he was finished with whatever he had in mind... no more than wanting her had stopped Jack from sending her to him in the first place.   
  
Will Graham sat staring at the files in front of him on the table while the minutes stretched out. He suddenly had no problem envisioning Lecter deciding to keep this woman alive for awhile; and, unlike Crawford, he was prepared to at least consider the possibility that she might actually be cooperative. He found that he was glad Jack had died before he got around to this.   
  
Clarice Starling must be something. Both Jack Crawford and Hannibal Lecter had been more than a little intrigued by her, and that bracketed almost any universe Graham could conceive of.   
  
It didn't take much imagination to figure out what Jack saw in her, but Lecter was another story.   
  
"It must have irked to have Jack send you somebody who wasn't thrown off by your mind games, huh, Doc?" He actually chuckled. "And a _trainee_, no less!"   
  
Graham realized that he was smirking. He was starting to like Starling a little himself, but that did nothing to change the fact that she scared the shit out of him. He would have been wary of _anybody_ who seemed to like Lecter, even a little; but he had a more compelling reason to fear Clarice Starling. She had managed to claim the Doctor's respect. That was a dubious achievement, to say the least, and one that_ should_ inspire a certain amount of fear in any rational human.   
  
And what about former Special Agent Starling? Why _wasn't_ she afraid of Lecter?   
  
"Why the hell didn't you ask her, Jack?"   
  
_ Stupid question, Will. It's obvious he didn't even want to admit it, let alone explore the nature of it. _  
  
Jack couldn't have known how she'd react to Lecter before he sent her down there, but the fact that she'd never made it into Behavioral Science told Will that her reaction wasn't what Jack had expected.   
  
_ Did she understand it, I wonder? _  
  
Finally, he bent forward and lifted the collection of clippings aside, picking up Agent Starling's reports on her conversations with Lecter.   
  
_ Let's see if you knew, Starling. You can be sure** he** did._   
  
Her reports were thorough and well-written. All of the information was there. She had left nothing out as far as he could tell from the portion of their dialogue that he'd heard... but they didn't quite convey the exact substance of the conversations either. Graham knew from personal experience that Hannibal Lecter was a disconcerting interview subject. He was certain that anyone reading his own reports on meetings with Lecter – even before the Doctor's arrest – would have come away with at least a vague sense that the interview had not been altogether pleasant. Nothing overt, mind you... the unconscious use of an extra adjective here and there that might signal discomfort, or paint Lecter's manner in a certain light. The absence of any indication in Starling's reports that this might be the case was less surprising to Graham than it should have been. Under other circumstances, he might have put it down to a conscious effort on the part of a young and ambitious trainee to appear professional, in control. But in this instance, having heard the tape before reading the reports, he found the complete absence of ... commentary on the Doctor himself to be more than a little disconcerting. Surely she couldn't have been unaware that her ease with him was uncommon in the extreme.   
  
Was it that... _natural_ to her?   
  
_ Hell, Jack, maybe you should have fought harder to get her into Behavioral Science. If you thought **I **could understand a killer, she would have blown you away. Yes sir, with just a little practice that lady would have made me look like an amateur... and I'll just bet she would have enjoyed it. It sure as hell wouldn't have left her fucked up, at the very least.   
  
What stopped you, Jack? Maybe she frightened you like I never did... maybe because she didn't have the sense to be frightened herself. _  
  
His eyes fell on the stack of clippings that had scattered out over the table. Somehow they seemed less lurid than prescient just now.   
  
"Why am I doing this?" he asked himself again.   
  
Why indeed? It was obvious that he was in no position to save this woman from anything. Truth be told, he wasn't so sure that it was even what she'd want, given the option. So why not just get rid of this whole mess? Why should he take this particular stroll down memory lane?   
  
_ Because you need to understand her now, don't you? _  
  
What he was thinking was inconceivable, yet it seemed necessary to consider it as a distinct possibility.   
  
Could she have gone with him willingly? Could _anyone_ want to...   
  
"NO! I will _not_ do this!"   
  
He scooped up the clippings and the reports, shoving them back into the sizable file and stacking it on top of Lecter's. Both files and the cassette tape went into the waste can in the corner. He picked up his glass and the half-empty bottle beside it and went down the hall to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**PART 3**

  
  
Graham woke the next morning, sprawled across his bed, still in last night's shorts and rumpled t-shirt. His head was pounding and he wanted water desperately. He rolled over, thinking he might risk trying to get up, and sent the now empty bottle beside him crashing to the floor.   
  
"Hell," he muttered. That would be a bitch to clean up when he finally decided he could move again.   
  
Will Graham was far too familiar with hangovers. He had begun almost every day of the past 10 years with one. He had long since given up any notion he might have had that the alcohol could make him forget - even for awhile - but passing out cold did seem to keep the nightmares at bay.   
  
"Might as well get this over with," he muttered as he gingerly sat up and moved his legs cautiously over the side of the bed. He sat still for a moment, letting himself adjust to the notion of sitting up and then stood slowly. That accomplished, he made his way around the bed in a wide arc, attempting to avoid the minefield of shattered glass and heading for the door to the hallway.   
  
The sluggish journey was interrupted after only a few steps. He let out a surprised yelp as he stepped on one of the shards of glass from the broken liquor bottle.   
  
"Dammit!"   
  
His injured foot came up, leg bending back at the knee, so that he could reach to remove the glass. He held the pose for another moment, regarding the deep slash along his heel, and then hobbled down the hall to the kitchen, leaving a trail of blood along the hallway to mark his progress.   
  
Standing in front of the open refrigerator, he finished a third of the bottled water in one gulp before turning to the sink. The dish towel would do. Graham wrapped it loosely around his foot, and shuffled into the living room. Once there, he lowered himself into a chair facing the corner.   
  
He stared at the waste can, the thick files peeking up over the edge. He could ignore them or give in and finish what he had started the night before. Graham looked away, his gaze wandering to the hallway and fixing on the darkening trail of red along the floor.   
  
_ You see that? That's what you get when you go picking through shit you have no business being in the middle of! Toss Jack's goddam files in the dumpster and take the boat out, or you can bet that's not the last blood you'll see before this is over. _  
  
He understood that he should take this advice, but was not in the mood to debate his better judgment this morning. He had started this, and he knew he would finish at least this part of it now. Why not just do it and get it over with?   
  
_ Are you sure you need to know, Will? Are you ready for what this will cost? _  
  
He downed the last of the water and got up, trading the empty bottle for the files in the waste can. Starling's file and the tape, he dropped to the floor beside the chair, and then settled back with Lecter's file in his lap.   
  
_ Let's see what you've been up to, Doctor... _  
  
After several hours, he closed the folder with a heavy sigh. He had gone through it cover to cover, even though most of the early information was still as familiar to him as it had been when he wrote the reports 15 years before.   
  
Though undeniably impressive _– God might still be ahead, Doctor, but you're sure as hell giving him a run for his money, aren't you? –_ the newer additions to Lecter's resume were not so intriguing to Graham as his correspondence with Clarice Starling.   
  
It was obvious that something Lecter saw in Starling had captured his imagination. His letters to her were not simply for the purpose of distressing her, as was the majority of his more personal correspondence. How many people, he wondered, did Lecter actually want to have any kind of legitimate dialogue with?   
  
  
**_ I have no plans to call on you, Clarice, the world being more interesting with you in it. _**  
  
  
"How did it feel to know he held you in such high regard, Starling?" His whisper was like a scream in the silent room. "I know it didn't frighten you as much as it should have, but did it please you, I wonder? Could you acknowledge it, if it did?"   
  
  
**_ I have windows.   
  
Orion is above the horizon now, and near it Jupiter, brighter than it will ever be again before the year 2000. (I have no intention of telling you the time and how high it is.) But I expect you can see it too. Some of our stars are the same.   
  
Clarice. _**  
  
  
_Some of our stars are the same? Jesus! That sounded almost... _he shuddered as he realized that the word he was reaching for was_ romantic. Lecter? Was that possible?_ The notion of romance and Hannibal Lecter coexisting even in the furthest reaches of the imagination struck Graham as something far beyond absurd, yet he was sure it was more than just whimsy on the Doctor's part. Hannibal Lecter never struck without at least an idea that he might hit his mark.   
  
"This one must have messed with your head pretty good," he muttered. At least he hoped it had. He was not yet capable of truly acknowledging the possibility that she hadn't been disturbed by the thing at all.   
  
As disconcerting as that first letter to Starling had been, the more recent ones were even more confounding in their own way. A cursory reading of the first might have seemed to be just another of the Doctor's mind games... if you didn't make it far enough, or pay close enough attention.   
  
  
**_ Now I will show you a quality you have that will help you: You are not blinded by tears, you have the onions to read on.   
  
Here's an exercise you might find useful. I want you physically to do this with me... _**  
  
  
The spectacle of Lecter actually attempting to comfort anyone was as alien to Graham as anything he could even begin to imagine... not to mention the notion that he might actually have the desire to do so.   
  
  
**_ You can be as strong as you wish to be.   
  
You are a warrior, Clarice. The enemy is dead, the baby safe. You are a warrior. _**  
  
  
_ Admiration? Did he have the cacapity? _  
  
  
**_ The most stable elements, Clarice, appear in the middle of the periodic table, roughly between iron and silver.   
  
Between iron and silver. I think that is appropriate for you.   
  
  
_** Graham shook his head and sat for a long moment before moving on to the last brief note. **_  
  
  
Did you ever think, Clarice, why the Philistines don't understand you? It's because you're the answer to Samson's riddle: You are the honey in the lion. _**  
  
  
"Well, I'll be a sonofabitch."   
  
Clarice Starling might actually be one of Lecter's few weaknesses.   
  
The question Will had to answer now was so simple, but almost too awful to consider. It was the same question he'd flirted with last night; the one that drew him back to the files this morning; the one that Jack Crawford had been too afraid even to consider, let alone ask directly...   
  
If Hannibal Lecter had a weakness for Starling - and it seemed obvious that he did - did _she_ have a weakness for _him_ as well?   
  
_ Why is that so important for you to know? _  
  
"You know damn fucking well why it's so fucking important!" he screamed into the silence.   
  
  
**_ "Do you know how you caught me, Will?"_**   
  
_Alright, time to get a grip._   
  
He took several deep breaths and let his head hang forward. Suddenly, he leaped up, pushing Lecter's file from his lap as though he'd just realized it was there for the first time.   
  
"Godammit!"   
  
_ Damn Jack Crawford straight to hell!   
  
And damn that fucking protege of his, too!   
  
How did she do it? How did she just stroll in and stare down the one thing that frightened him more than he could even comprehend? The bitch didn't even have the decency to **blink **at the biggest, baddest boogeyman in Will's closet, and Crawford had come asking **him** to save** her**.   
  
_ It had taken him close to a dozen years – not to mention an ocean of tequila – to numb himself enough so that he didn't try to peek at what was behind that damn door any longer, and Jack just waltzed right in and flung the thing wide open again without one thought as to what the damage might be.   
  
"Jesus, Jack! Couldn't you have just let it die? You might as well have come in here and put a gun to my head." A heavy sigh escaped him. "No, that was never your style, was it? Way too direct for you. Hell, if you did it that way, you might actually have had to admit that your motives weren't so noble, after all."   
  
_ It certainly wouldn't do for the benevolent leader to have to look at the fact that he was willing to sacrifice everyone but himself to his stubborn vendetta. _  
  
Graham spat out a dry laugh.   
  
"I wonder if you saw the irony when you read Starling's reports, Jack? Did you stop, even for a second, to ask yourself how many lambs you were willing to send to slaughter?"   
  
He was pacing now, muttering under his breath.   
  
_ Fuck this! _  
  
He needed to get out of here. No, he needed a drink. He moved to the kitchen and jerked open the cabinet above the sink. _Fuck! Maybe in the bedroom..._   
  
Graham stormed down the hall, stopping in the middle of the room to survey the various surfaces for that familiar square bottle. _Maybe over by the..._   
  
"Jesus!"   
  
He looked down at the shattered glass, pulled yet another shard from the ball of the same foot, and flung it onto the dresser, not even bothering to assess the damage this time. All he was prepared to worry about right now was getting to the liquor store.   
  
He stepped into a pair of sandals and snatched his keys from the dresser.   
  



	4. Chapter 4

**PART 4**

  
  
More than forty-eight hours later, Will Graham – still in the same filthy clothes and surrounded by several empty bottles – was just beginning to sober up again.   
  
Despite his best efforts to let this go, he continued to find himself at odds with his better instincts. He'd paid his dues. Jack was dead. Hell, he'd even looked through those damn files because it had been Jack's last request of him. There was no reason he shouldn't just walk away.   
  
_ Starling. _  
  
No one seemed to be able to walk away from her that easily.   
  
_ Not Jack... not Lecter... and not me, it seems.   
  
What is she to you really, Will? Is she worth dying for? Because you know this one will kill you – one way or another. You **do** know that, don't you? _  
  
"Third time's the charm, Doc."   
  
He stretched his arms out in front of him, lacing his fingers together and cracking his knuckles as he did so. Then he placed his hands carefully on the arms of his chair and, with considerable effort, raised himself to his feet. He stood for a minute to find his balance and finally stumbled off down the hall in search of a shower.   
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
  
  
A showered and freshly dressed Graham sat at the table in his kitchen several hours later with a large mug of strong, black coffee and Clarice Starling's file spread out in front of him.   
  
"Alright, Starling, where do we start?   
  
No family to speak of.   
  
No significant other.   
  
I'll bet Jack was the closest thing you had to a friend in the Bureau, and he won't be of much help now.   
  
Hmmm...   
  
You shared a duplex with your roommate from the Academy. Let's see... Mapp. She's probably worth a conversation. I wonder if she's cleaned out your side of the place yet? I wouldn't mind a look around if she hasn't."   
  
This wasn't something to do over the phone. It had been several months now since Starling disappeared, and her roommate was probably trying to get on with the business of tucking it all away and moving forward. If he had to re-open fresh wounds, he wanted to do it delicately. Besides, he liked to conduct interviews in person whenever possible.   
  
_ Conduct interviews? That sounds awfully professional for a washed-up drunk, my man. _  
  
Should he call Agent Mapp and make sure she'd be willing to talk to him? No, might as well just wait and call when you get there. It would be harder to refuse if he'd already made the trip. He'd just need to make a phone call to arrange for plane tickets.   
  
_ Don't forget to pack the old flask. You're sure to need it for this one. _  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**PART 5**

  
  
"Forgive me, Mr. Graham, but it was my understanding that the Bureau has chosen not to pursue an investigation into Starling's disappearance."   
  
"Jack Crawford didn't agree with their decision, Agent Mapp. He asked me if I would be willing to look into the situation more closely."   
  
"He thought Lecter had her." Her voice had gone flat.   
  
He drew a breath to speak, but she cut him off.   
  
"Don't bother to try and bullshit me, Mr. Graham. We both know the only reason for Crawford to have come to you is Lecter."   
  
He said nothing. There was no need. She studied him in the silence that stretched out between them.   
  
"If you'll forgive me saying, I'm surprised you agreed to do it."   
  
He emitted a humorless snort.   
  
"I didn't, to tell you the truth." A deep sigh. "But after Jack died..." his voice trailed off. Mapp finished the thought for him.   
  
"You felt obligated."   
  
"Yeah, I guess so."   
  
She nodded and then drew in a deep breath.  
  
"It's been months."   
  
"Yes, it has."   
  
"Starling would have found a way to let me know if she were alive."   
  
"How can you be so sure?"   
  
"She was my best friend." A pause. "And I was the closest thing she had to family. She would have found a way to let me know." A defiant glint shone in her earnest brown eyes.   
  
"Agent Mapp, are you certain you knew Ms. Starling as well as you think?"   
  
"I knew her as well as anybody. Starling didn't really let anybody get too close, but she let me in farther than most."   
  
"She'd been suspended, was facing charges..."   
  
"Where is this going, Mr. Graham?"   
  
"Is it possible she saw this as a chance to simply disappear?"   
  
"No. Not Starling." She said it almost too quickly. "Look, even if she were the type, she wouldn't have just gone off without letting _me_ know she was alright."   
  
"You can't think of _any _circumstances where she might have left without telling you?"   
  
"You obviously can. Why not just come out and ask me what you want to know?"   
  
"There were more than a few rumblings regarding Agent Starling and..."   
  
Mapp's eyes hardened.   
  
"Stop right there! I know that girl, Mr. Graham, and if she left Verger's farm with Lecter it was because he didn't give her a choice."   
  
"You seem awfully sure of that."   
  
"I'd stake my life on it."   
  
She held his stare, daring him to push on this particular point.   
  
"Is that what you think happened, Agent Mapp?"   
  
She looked away from him then, with a deep sigh. She started to speak but paused to be sure she could maintain her composure.   
  
"That sonofabitch was obsessed with Starling. I think he abducted her..." she stopped, visibly struggling for a moment, "... and I think he killed her."   
  
Graham debated.   
  
"Jack seemed to think Lecter might keep her alive," he suggested.   
  
Ardelia Mapp looked up to the ceiling. A single tear made its way down along her cheek, but when she looked at Graham again her face had hardened to stone.   
  
"I was afraid of that. I hope for her sake we're both wrong."   
  
"Did she ever talk about Lecter?"   
  
"No, not much." She looked off over Graham's shoulder, calling up a memory. "I asked her once if she was afraid of him."   
  
He waited, and when she didn't go on, prompted her.   
  
"And was she?"   
  
"No. No, I don't think she was. She told me just before... she told me she'd like to be the one to go in after him if he was cornered. Said he'd have a better chance of coming out alive because she wouldn't shoot him just because she was afraid of him. I asked her straight out if she was, and she said what was scary was when somebody tells you the truth. 'Can't waste a man that's crazy enough to tell the truth,' she said."   
  
Graham raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. Mapp continued to stare ahead of her at nothing in particular while he waited patiently for her to return to their conversation. Finally, her eyes focused on him once again.   
  
"Look, Mr. Graham, I'd love to be able to help you. Believe me, there's nothing that would please me more. Don't you think I chased down every lead I could think of after it happened? Hell, I even went to Barney Jackson's apartment and held a gun on him. I just don't know what else there is to do."   
  
"Barney Jackson?"   
  
"Yeah, he was an orderly at the hospital in Baltimore. Starling talked to him when this whole mess started. I found out he worked for Mason Verger for about a month, thought he might know something."   
  
The question was in his eyes.   
  
"He said he didn't. Said Verger asked him about Lecter. He didn't like it up there, so he quit. I believed him."   
  
"Do you still have that address?"   
  



	6. Chapter 6

**PART 6**

  
  
Barney Jackson was no longer living in the Baltimore area. Conversations with both the human resources department at Misericordia and his landlord revealed only that he had suddenly announced a newfound urge to travel. The landlord was a gossip and all too happy to weigh in with his opinion on the matter.   
  
"Now Barney Jackson was a good tenant - always reliable with the rent; never caused me a day of trouble. He told me he had plans to sublet his place not long after that sicko shrink made the local headlines again. If you ask me, he was just plain too afraid to stick around here any longer. Not that I blame him. Can you imagine knowing that freak was on the loose and thinking he might come looking for you?" He paused only for the briefest instant, slapping a hand against his forehead. "Now that's a stupid question... of course _you_ do, dontcha?"   
  
Graham tensed. His lips compressed into a thin line, but the other man didn't seem to notice.   
  
"Yeah, can't say I blame him for wanting to get lost real quick with that nut case on the loose and so close by. Didn't even leave a forwarding address, but can't say I'm sorry for it. The less I'm involved in that whole mess, the happier I'll be. I can tell you that for sure."   
  
He leaned in conspiratorially, and Will knew that the questions were about to start.   
  
_ Better cut this off quick or you'll be here all fucking day. _  
  
"Well, thank you for your time. You've been very helpful." He was already moving for the door as he added, "I'll call if there are any further questions, but I'll try not to bother you again."   
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
  
  
When Graham finally managed to track him down, it was in New York City. Barney was staying in a residential hotel near the Metropolitan Museum.   
  
"I don't know what I can tell you, Mr. Graham. I haven't seen Dr. Lecter since just before Dr. Chilton took him to Memphis."   
  
"Actually, Mr. Jackson, I'm not looking for any recent information about Lecter - at least that's not why I wanted to speak with _you_."   
  
Barney cocked his head to the side and looked at Graham with wary interest.   
  
"I'm curious," Graham went on, "about Dr. Lecter's conversations with Clarice Starling."   
  
"Oh," Barney sighed. "I should have known. That's what Mr. Verger wanted, too – him and every tabloid reporter on the face of the planet."   
  
Verger and the tabloids... Graham was in fine company, he thought grimly.   
  
"Mason Verger requested information about Dr. Lecter and Agent Starling?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Did you know why he wanted this information?"   
  
"He didn't explain himself to me, Mr. Graham, but I assumed he was helping the FBI. When I talked with him about Dr. Lecter, there was a Mr. Krendler there. I know he was part of the investigation."   
  
"Paul Krendler? Are you sure?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Was anyone else present during this meeting?"   
  
"Mr. Verger's sister, Margot, and Dr. Doemling."   
  
"Doemling?"   
  
"I believe Mr. Verger consulted him as a psychiatric expert. He'd tried to interview Dr. Lecter while he was in custody."   
  
"Tried?"   
  
Barney shrugged.   
  
"I shouldn't have to tell you, of all people, what Dr. Lecter could be like."   
  
"No. I guess not," Graham conceded. "Was it bad?"   
  
There was just a hint of suppressed amusement in Barney Jackson's tone as he replied.   
  
"The worst one I saw. I don't know what Dr. Lecter said to him, but he left in tears."   
  
Will felt a sudden sympathy for Dr. Doemling. He understood better than most what Lecter could do with a few well-placed words. He found he needed to change the subject.   
  
"Why did Verger come to you?" he asked abruptly.   
  
"Because I had the opportunity to see them together."   
  
"And you provided him with the information he asked for?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Would you mind telling me what this information involved?"   
  
Barney sighed again.   
  
"He wanted to know if Dr. Lecter and Agent Starling became 'friendly' during the time she came to see him in Baltimore."   
  
"And did they?"   
  
"Within a specifically defined framework, yes." He must have seen something in Graham's expression, because he added, "I had what you might call 'friendly' conversations with Dr. Lecter, too, Mr. Graham. It was simply a matter of respect."   
  
"Did you... like Dr. Lecter, Mr. Jackson?"   
  
Barney considered for a long moment before answering.   
  
"I didn't _dislike_ Dr. Lecter, but I don't think I would go so far as to say I liked him either. I respected him... and I understood what he was capable of."   
  
Graham nodded and looked down to his lap. After a moment, he raised his head and met Barney's eyes.   
  
"Did Agent Starling like Dr. Lecter?"   
  
"Now, just how would I know that, Mr. Graham?"   
  
"I'm asking for your _opinion_, Mr. Jackson. Based on what you saw of their interactions, did you have the impression that Agent Starling liked Dr. Lecter?"   
  
Barney lowered his gaze, studying his hands.   
  
"Yes." He looked up, met Graham's eyes. "And he liked her."   
  
"Did he ever talk to you about her?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
"What did he say?"   
  
"He said she was like a cub... that she was only equipped to play with the other cubs at the time, but she would eventually get too big to play with."   
  
Graham thought about this.   
  
"Are you telling me that Dr. Lecter saw... potential in her?"   
  
" I suppose I am."   
  
_ Potential for what? _  
  
"Did you share this information with Mason Verger?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Anything else you told Verger?"   
  
"Just that he respected her moxie. He responded to her when she showed her strength. Dr. Doemling dismissed that as some sort of romantic notion on my part, but he was wrong."   
  
_ Romantic. _  
  
There was that word again.   
  
Graham felt something cold settle in the pit of his stomach.   
  
"Would he kill her, Mr. Jackson?"   
  
Barney looked at him as if he had sprouted a second head.   
  
"Dr. Lecter would kill _anyone_. You should know that as well as I do." A pause. "Mr. Graham I looked after Dr. Lecter for 6 years. I lasted because I never lost sight of what he was. He could almost make you forget sometimes, but that was the way to trouble. He told me once that he preferred to eat the rude whenever it was 'feasible' 'free-range rude,' he said. I believe that. But I also know that nobody who gets in his way is safe, rude or not. Nobody."   
  
"So you believe Agent Starling is dead?"   
  
"I'm sorry to say it, but I didn't get the impression she'd leave him much choice."   
  
"And if she did?"   
  
"I suppose he might've let her go if he could," Barney replied thoughtfully. "I can't say for sure that he would choose to kill her if he didn't have to."   
  
He considered for a minute.   
  
"But if he didn't kill her, where is she?"   
  
"Would he hold her, do you think? Did she interest him enough for that?"   
  
Graham watched as a shudder passed through the other man.   
  
"I hope not, Mr. Graham. I hope to hell not."   
  



	7. Chapter 7

**PART 7**

  
  
Graham stared out the window of the 757, as it moved through the night sky. This little field trip had been a waste of time. He wasn't any closer to figuring Starling out than he had been when he'd left the Keys.   
  
_ You're no closer to understanding her? Don't you mean, you couldn't find anyone to confirm your suspicions that she left with Lecter willingly?_   
  
After Ardelia Mapp retrieved Mr. Jackson's address, he had taken several passes at discussing the speculation regarding the nature of the relationship between Clarice Starling and Hannibal Lecter. Agent Mapp avoided each one with increasing vehemence, which convinced him that she had at least vague misgivings of her own... but no intention of sharing them no matter how hard he pushed.   
  
_ "Surely **you** should understand just how harmful tabloid rumors can be, Mr Graham." _  
  
He had told her that he understood perfectly, and also that he understood just as perfectly that sometimes they held at least a hint of truth. She had asked him to leave.   
  
_ She's nowhere near admitting it to herself, Will. What made you think she could admit it to you?   
  
_ Barney Jackson had ultimately been of little help. He did confirm that Starling's suspicions about Paul Krendler had been well-founded, but that was immaterial now. Krendler had disappeared not long after Starling herself had gone missing.   
  
_ Maybe Krendler disappeared **because** of Starling? _  
  
Lecter had killed a man for offending her after their first meeting. Who was to say he wouldn't do so again? Who was to say she hadn't done it herself this time, for that matter? As far as Graham was concerned, anyone who could be comfortable with Hannibal Lecter was capable of _anything_.   
  
_ How do you do it, Ms. Starling? How do you reconcile what he is? And why in the name of all that's holy doesn't it disgust you? _  
  
Graham remembered Jack asking him once why anyone would want to meet Lecter. Maybe he should have asked _her_. She might have had an answer.   
  
_ He saw something in you, something that intrigued him. What was it, I wonder? And just what did you see in him?_  
  
He kept coming back to the conclusion that she wanted to go with Lecter, but why was he so sure? Why was he so sure Lecter wanted her, for that matter? He knew very well how much Lecter enjoyed playing with people's heads. Why was he so quick to assume this woman was any different?   
  
Too many assumptions.   
  
Perhaps he was simply incapable of the objectivity required to do this. He thought about contacting Alan Bloom, but quickly discarded that as a possibility. He had no desire to revisit his own past too closely, and Bloom was not the man to help him avoid that.   
  
Barney Jackson had said that Verger consulted a psychiatric expert... Doemling. Maybe he'd contact Doemling when he got home, see what this guy's take was. It couldn't hurt. At the most, it would cost him a little of his time and a few bucks for the call.   
  
"Would you like another drink, Sir?"  
  
Graham looked over to find the flight attendant smiling at him.   
  
"Sure," he muttered, reaching into his pocket. "Why not?"   
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
  
  
Several hours later, Will Graham came off the plane in Miami Beach and headed off to find the gate for his commuter flight.   
  
"Mr. Graham!"   
  
He turned to search for the owner of the voice and found himself looking into the lens of a camera.   
  
"For fuck's sake!"   
  
"Mr. Graham, you _are_ investigating the disappearance of Clarice Starling, aren't you?"   
  
He was already storming off through the terminal. The reporter had to run to catch up to him.   
  
"Do you think she's with Lecter?"   
  
This earned the young woman an exasperated look back over his shoulder, but still he said nothing.   
  
"Are you sure you should be the one to go after them, Mr. Graham? Your track record isn't so good with Lecter."   
  
She was trying to piss him off enough to comment.   
  
_ It's not gonna work, Sweetheart. Give it up._  
  
"Isn't it true you've almost been killed twice in your dealings with Hannibal the Cannibal?"   
  
_Fuck it!_   
  
He stopped dead in his tracks and spun around to face her. She was winded but had a look of clear triumph on her pretty features.   
  
"As I remember it," he hissed, "the one who _died_ in the last round was a low life tabloid reporter."   
  



	8. Chapter 8

**PART 8**

  
  
Why had he thought this might be a good idea?   
  
He had been on the phone with Doemling for just over half an hour, and, other than his initial explanation for the call, the man had not let him get a word in edgewise.   
  
Doemling fancied himself an expert on Hannibal Lecter and was currently going on about what he called _'Doemling's avunculism.'_ Dr. Lecter, he maintained, was a perfect example.   
  
"You see, Mr. Graham, certain... prurient mindsets might wish to see this association with the Starling woman as 'Beauty and the Beast' but, as I told Mason Verger, that couldn't be farther from the truth of the situation. Hannibal Lecter is plainly incapable of any positive human emotions. He is a pure sociopath. Are you familiar with the crucifixion clock he designed in the asylum?"   
  
"Yes, but..."   
  
"Well then, it should be obvious that his aim is her suffering and degradation. The drawing clearly depicts a wish to lay waste to an object of veneration. The woman is not the prize here, Mr. Graham. The woman's _destruction_ is Lecter's objective."   
  
"Then, how do you account for the sketch he sent her just before he left Florence? He attached her likeness to the body of a gryphon, a symbol of courage and strength. Wouldn't that imply that perhaps Barney Jackson's observations might have some basis..."   
  
Doemling cut him off.   
  
"The gryphon, if I am not mistaken, is also a symbol of the dual nature of Christ. This is nothing more than another invocation of the crucifixion imagery. While I understand the tendency of those with _Nurse_ Jackson's tabloid mentality to romanticize this, I must say I'm quite frankly surprised that a man with your background should be seduced by such a fanciful interpretation of the facts."   
  
It took Graham a moment to recognize the silence that reasserted itself as the psychiatrist's smug recitation came to an end.   
  
"I see your point," he muttered reluctantly – _anything_ to move on. "I'm sure you understand it_ is_ necessary to explore all of the possibilities in this type of situation."   
  
"Of course," Doemling replied in a patronizing tone.   
  
"How about Ms. Starling? Do you think she could have _willingly_ left Verger's farm with Dr. Lecter?"   
  
Doemling's answer was immediate.   
  
"Oh yes, Mr. Graham. I believe that is entirely possible. The Starling woman had an obvious father fixation, which I suspect Lecter used to great advantage with her. I should think he found her an easy target for manipulation."  
  
Graham's response was determinedly non-committal.  
  
"Hmm..."  
  
_ You had plenty of money Mr. Verger. A man with your resources should have been able to find a consultant with a little more insight._  
  
"Is that all, Mr. Graham?" Doemling asked impatiently. "If you have what you need from me, I'd like to be going."   
  
"Certainly!" Will agreed with far too much enthusiasm. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Doemling."   
  
Graham hung up the phone with a surprising sense of relief. He was very sorry to note that his sympathy for the man in regards to Lecter's treatment of him had almost completely evaporated. No wonder it had been so bad. This guy might as well have gone in there with a target stamped on his forehead.   
  
_ He must have been pretty boring for you, Doctor. No real challenge **there** at all. I'd guess he was one of the most unsatisfying catnip mice you've ever batted._   
  
Another waste of his time.   
  
_ Not exactly, Will. You're procrastinating, so it was really an excellent investment._   
  
Not true.   
  
_ Sure it is, My Man. Spend enough time trying to disprove your theory and you don't have to work it enough to figure out why you're so sure of it to begin with... or what it means._   
  



	9. Chapter 9

**PART 9**

  
  
Hannibal Lecter set his cup back into its saucer and glanced up from the current issue of the National Tattler.   
  
"We have a bit of a problem to attend to, My Dear."   
  
"What is it?"   
  
A look of concern immediately clouded the dark eyes of the woman sitting next to him.   
  
He turned the tabloid around to her, holding it up so that she could read the header on a column in the lower left corner of the page...   
  
**_ Retired FBI Investigator Will Graham Re-emerges   
in On-going Search for Hannibal the Cannibal and Missing Agent_**  
  
She cocked an eyebrow and reached for it, scanning the short article quickly and then glancing at the photo insert. She then folded the paper in her lap and looked back to her companion.   
  
"You don't really believe he could be that much trouble, do you?"   
  
"Not on his own, no," Lecter replied thoughtfully.   
  
"Then what?"   
  
"I was hoping to leave the country now that the bulk of the news coverage has died down. I'm sure you realize our chances of escaping detection increase if the immigration officers and our fellow travelers aren't staring at our likenesses in whatever rag they happen to be flipping through to pass the time."   
  
She nodded for a moment, considering.   
  
"Graham's history _is_ enough of a story to keep him in the spotlight for awhile, especially with a rag like the Tattler. They'll milk anything even the slightest bit lurid for all it's worth." A pause. "Still, there's nothing for him to find, Hannibal. Surely he'll give up and let it go soon. It's obvious from this thing..." She waved the paper in front of her, "... that he doesn't have any real connection to the Bureau any longer, and even the scum at the Tattler can only stretch a thin premise so far."   
  
"All true," he conceded, "but Will can be persistent, Clarice. I think perhaps moreso than the occasion might warrant in this case."   
  
"But why? What can he possibly have to gain from this?"   
  
"I should think it has a good deal to do with you, Love."   
  
"Me?"   
  
"Mmm."   
  
"You're going to have to help me a little on this one, I'm afraid."   
  
"How much do you know about Will Graham, Clarice?"   
  
She shrugged.   
  
"What everyone in the bureau knows," she began. "He was a forensics whiz who was a little too good at getting inside a killer's head. They said he had a taste for it that went beyond the job, but frankly I never paid that much attention to agency gossip." She stopped short, chuckled. "Maybe I should have, at that. They seem to have been right, in my case."   
  
She glanced over at him and smiled. Lecter returned the smile and reached to tuck a lock of hair affectionately behind her ear, but said nothing.   
  
She sighed and pressed on.   
  
"I know he spent some time in a mental ward at Bethesda... in the early '70's, I think it was."   
  
A pause. The hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she held his eyes.   
  
"I know he's the one who caught _you_."   
  
He arched an eyebrow but still said nothing.   
  
"Let's see... you cut him up pretty badly, as I recall. He was lucky to live through it."   
  
"_That_ depends on your perspective," he interrupted, chuckling as she glared at him before resuming her recitation.   
  
"Retired to Florida until Crawford needed him for the Tooth Fairy. If I'm not mistaken, you are the helpful soul who provided that charming character with Graham's home address, no?"   
  
"I do what I can," he murmured modestly.   
  
She gave an indulgent shake of her head and sprinted for the finish line.   
  
"From what I understand, he still has plenty of scars to remember the both of you by." At this she helpfully held up the article, complete with photo insert, and smirked as Lecter rolled his eyes. "He moved to a different part of the state after he got out of the hospital that last time. Last anyone I know of heard, his wife left him and he had developed a fairly serious relationship with Jose Cuervo. Did I miss anything important?"   
  
"No, I believe that covers the basics. Pathetic really, when you see it laid out like that, isn't it?"   
  
A heavy sigh.   
  
"I'm sure you have a point with this little history quiz, Doctor. You always do."   
  
His eyes grew cold. He reached out to grip the back of her neck and pull her face closer to his, just short of inflicting pain.   
  
"I believe you might be getting entirely too comfortable with me, former Special Agent Starling."   
  
"Mmm... could be," she admitted, calmly meeting his stare.   
  
His grip tightened and his dark eyes flashed. He studied her for a moment, debating, and finally decided that now was not the ideal time for a lesson. He made a mental note to revisit this particular point later in the evening and released his hold on her.   
  
"Forgive me, My Dear. I thought you wanted an answer to your question."   
  
"I'd love one." A beat. "And I thought you'd forgotten."   
  
"Sarcasm is hardly necessary, Clarice... nor is it wise to test my patience."   
  
"Sorry."   
  
A failed attempt on her part to appear contrite, followed by a weary sigh from her companion.   
  
"Very well. Will has an empathic ability that is uncanny. His capacity to assume... shall we say, any number of unsavory mindsets served him well in forensics. He managed to decipher the thought patterns of several killers in his days at Quantico."   
  
She raised an eyebrow at this, earning a stern look before he went on.   
  
"No, I was not among them – though I will say that he made an extraordinary leap of reasoning based on my office decor." He paused again to offer her a charming smile. "Will caught me because he was lucky, nothing more."   
  
A slight change in his tone as he moved back to the issue at hand.   
  
"Unfortunately for him, he did _not_ have a taste for it. His greatest fear was that he was able to empathize so completely with 'monsters' because he was one himself."   
  
"Well, I suppose you really can't blame him for that, can you? He certainly had the notion reinforced for him thoroughly enough." She studied Lecter for a moment, and when she spoke her voice was tinged with accusation. "You reinforced it yourself, didn't you?"   
  
"I might have said something. It was so long ago, who can remember?" he smirked.   
  
"Let me guess. He was kind enough to put you in a cage, so you thought you'd return the favor and imprison him just as effectively."   
  
"A bit facile, Clarice; but yes, something like that. Will invested a great deal of energy in trying to avoid any real understanding of his abilities. I simply took it upon myself to direct his attention to his own insights."   
  
"But his insights were clouded by his fear."   
  
"Precisely." That single word dripped with smug satisfaction.   
  
"You're incorrigible."   
  
"Thank you."   
  
"I'm afraid I still don't see what this has to do with me."   
  
"I'm certain if you apply yourself, you'll manage to make a connection."   
  
He regarded her expectantly as she considered.   
  
"You don't mean to imply that he sees _me_ as a path to understanding himself?" "Still quick, I see." The grin he offered her was positively gleeful. "Clarice, My Love, you are Will's worst nightmare."   
  
She chose not to acknowledge his amusement for the moment.   
  
"You think he sees me as a way to face his fear without having to look too close to home."   
  
"I do."   
  
"If that's the case, this will be about familiarity for him. He'll work it like a dog with a bone, regardless of whether or not he actually expects to find us. "   
  
"That is my concern, yes."   
  
"I presume you have some notion of what do about it?"   
  
His smile bordered on the unpleasant.   
  
"You and I are going to give Mr. Graham what he least expects, Clarice."   
  
She stared at him, astonished.   
  
"You can't..." her voice trailed off, and she shook her head slowly from side to side.   
  
He grinned, bearing sharp, white teeth.   
  
"I understand the Florida Keys are lovely this time of year."   
  



	10. Chapter 10

**PART 10**

  
  
Will Graham settled into a weathered adirondack chair on his back deck with a tumbler and a half-empty bottle of Jose Cuervo Gold.   
  
He'd spent the past several hours at his kitchen table with Jack's files and a pile of notes spread out in front of him, and he needed a change of scenery. How many times could he read over that shit anyway?   
  
_ Those notes aren't going to help you, Will. You already have what you need from them... you just don't have the balls to put it all together._   
  
Graham filled his glass, drained it, and looked out to the horizon.   
  
_ Clarice Starling._   
  
"I think you feel some kind of sick 'kinship' with Lecter, Ms. Starling. That's what Jack was _really_ afraid of - not that Lecter was holding you against your will, but that he wasn't. And he was right to be afraid, wasn't he?"   
  
_ But why?   
  
Lecter's inhuman.   
  
_ Will knew that Dr. Lecter could be disarming when he chose to be. Perhaps...   
  
No. If Lecter _was_ in the market for a companion, he would seek out someone who could accept the full force of his mercurial nature. He would have found her inadequate otherwise.   
  
"What exactly do you see when you look at him, Ms. Starling?"   
  
On that point, Graham still had no workable theory. All he knew for sure was that she didn't see the monster that everyone else saw... or if she did, she saw something else as well, something that overshadowed it.   
  
Hell, maybe he had it all wrong. Dr. Lecter_ did _enjoy his head games.   
  
_ You know all about those, don't you, my man?_   
  
Graham had to concede it was possible that Doemling could have been right about a father fixation, though the thought of Hannibal Lecter as some sort of perverse father figure disturbed him in a way that was difficult to define. He felt a shudder move through him at the mere thought.   
  
Still, it was tempting to chalk it up to something as straightforward as the exploitation of an obvious weakness.   
  
_ That **might** let you sleep at night... if you could make yourself believe it._   
  
It just didn't account for her early response to him.   
  
"He didn't frighten you.   
  
Why?   
  
Because we aren't afraid of the familiar. You weren't afraid of him because you saw something _familiar_ in him, didn't you?"   
  
Graham stared into the bottom of his empty glass as though the solution might be there if he could only look hard enough.   
  
"How do you relate to a monster, Ms. Starling?"   
  
Lecter's voice in his head... **"Do_ you _really have to ask that question, Will?"**   
  
His head thrashed violently, trying to dislodge the thought.  
  
_ You won't find what you're looking for if we keep going back to Lecter, you know. Are we just going to keep dancing around it, or are we going to get to why we're really here?_   
  
Graham took a deep breath, reached for the bottle, and poured several inches of the tequila. He downed half of it in one gulp and studied what remained as he swirled it in the heavy tumbler. Another pass finished it off.   
  
He set the glass down decisively on the arm of his chair.   
  
"Let's see, Ms. Starling...   
  
You lost your father at what? Eight? Mom held onto you for a couple of years but then packed you off to live with her cousin when things got rough. She held onto your younger siblings, but you had to go because you were the oldest. Not a very good explanation for anyone, let alone a ten year old who's lost her father and is about to lose the rest of her family. I bet you didn't know your relatives in Montana so good either, did you? No, probably not much chance to travel for family visits. Your father dead, abandoned by your mother, sent away to live with strangers, and cut off from your brothers and sisters.   
  
You must have been angry, Starling, more than angry. Were you tempted to channel it in a destructive way?"   
  
He let the question hang in the air for a moment, his eyes narrowing intently as he gazed out across the water.   
  
"Probably not, at least not seriously. Given your father's choice of occupation, you would have had a healthy respect for the rules."   
  
What was it that Lecter had said in his letter to her?   
  
**_ "...it was apparent to me that your father, the dead night watchman, figures large in your value system."_**   
  
"I'll bet you wanted to be worthy of Daddy's approval, especially since you must have thought your mother's was already out of reach.   
  
So you go off to Montana like a good little girl, and you spend the next 7 months there. You have time to get attached to this horse, Hannah.   
  
It's not just the excitement of riding a horse, is it? You feel like you have something in common with her. You've both been cast aside, haven't you? She's in a position to understand.   
  
You know on some level that Hannah is headed for the glue factory, but you manage not to look too closely at the reality until you wake up one night to screaming lambs. That makes it real for you, doesn't it? If those lambs are being slaughtered, then maybe Hannah is next in line. So you decide to take her and run away."   
  
Graham pursed his lips and shook his head slowly from side to side as he imagined this young, frightened girl setting off into the night with a half blind horse, taking her away from a farm where useless animals were sent to live out their lives until it was time for the slaughter. That horse was probably the only friend she had in the world, her only sense of anything she had left that might feel like home. Her determination not to suffer another loss hit him with such urgency that it took his breath. He leaned forward, fingers tightening on the arms of his chair.   
  
"You felt just as abandoned as those doomed animals, didn't you? It wasn't just Hannah you were trying to save that night."   
  
He registered his posture and forced himself to relax his grip and settle back into the chair.   
  
"You stayed in Bozeman with Hannah. You left your new home, your last connection to family, and chose the Lutheran orphanage... and they let you go.   
  
Nobody fought to keep you.   
  
Your mother didn't try hard enough. Her cousin didn't really bother to try at all.   
  
Your father would have kept you with him, wouldn't he? Things would have been different if he hadn't been taken away.   
  
But he was gone. And you were alone."   
  
No problems at the Lutheran Home. In fact, Starling fared very well there. She learned the rules, settled into a routine, and did well. Probably afraid of being sent away again if she didn't.   
  
"I'll bet you didn't make any friends, did you, Starling? Attachments would only leave you open to more loss. Better to focus on what you could control.   
  
Focus and discipline. That's what defined you, wasn't it?   
  
That, and the memory of your dead father.   
  
You've had a lonely life, haven't you, Ms. Starling?"   
  
Graham sat for some time, staring ahead at nothing in particular and brooding over a crippling sense of isolation.   
  
_ Hers, Will... or yours?_   
  
He decided it was probably both. And both ultimately self-imposed.   
  
"He got in, didn't he?"   
  
The sound of his own whisper seemed to surprise him. He stood and paced nervously back and forth on the small deck.   
  
_ Starling. No more detours. _   
  
UVA next. Double major in psychology and criminology. Graduated with honors. Licensed counselor. Forensic Fellow. Then Quantico. Smart, maybe too smart... and ambitious.   
  
Still pacing.   
  
"You would have wanted to make your daddy proud.   
  
The psychology was for you, wasn't it? You would have had questions you wanted answers to. I suspect you didn't get them, but you went looking regardless.   
  
Law enforcement would have been for Daddy. Were you trying to follow in his footsteps? Maybe do him one better and become _real_ law enforcement. You can't get much more real than the FBI."   
  
_** I think your success in putting an end to Jame Gumb's career as a couturier pleased you most because you could imagine your father doing it.**_   
  
"Maybe you were looking for revenge. Maybe you wanted to go after the bad guys because it was the bad guys that took your daddy away from you."   
  
**_ "... how do you manage your rage?"_**   
  
"Or maybe you just wanted an excuse to play with guns."   
  
The lady was definitely proficient with a gun. Interservice combat pistol champion three years running. Probably would have been more if she hadn't withdrawn from competition.   
  
Not a woman to fuck with.   
  
"Whatever your reasons for joining up, you got off to a promising start with the Bureau, Agent Starling. You had Jack's attention, stopped Buffalo Bill..."   
  
_**Killed** Buffalo Bill, you mean._   
  
"But you weren't so good with the politics, were you? No, you would have counted on getting ahead simply by proving yourself. It must have been a shock to be left spinning your wheels."   
  
There was no doubt the FBI had been a disappointment for her. Years of shit details for a bright, ambitious agent. She'd probably long since given up any hope of getting the assignment she'd most wanted.   
  
"You knew it was a dead end for you, didn't you?"   
  
Dr. Lecter would have noted that _legitimate_ law enforcement had been no kinder to her than her father's night watchman job.   
  
Lecter.   
  
He was the only reason she was spared after the Drumgo shooting. If he hadn't sent her that letter, there would have been nothing Jack could do to stop it.   
  
The thought came unbidden, stopping his restless movement over the boards of the deck.   
  
_ Quiet for seven years... but there when she needed someone._   
  
Suddenly, he felt completely drained. He moved back to his chair and sat with a thud.   
  
"Jesus Christ! Can that be true?"   
  
_ "You can't waste a man that's crazy enough to tell the truth."_   
  
The truth...   
  
An image of Clarice Starling brandishing a jack handle.   
  
_ "... but she would eventually get too big to play with."_   
  
"Too dangerous is more like it, maybe."   
  
Hadn't he read something in one of those pieces from the Tattler about the Guiness Book of Records claiming that Agent Clarice Starling of the FBI had killed more alleged criminals than any other female law enforcement officer in US history?   
  
_** "...how do you manage your rage?"**_   
  
The truth.   
  
"Dr. Lecter _recognized_ you, didn't he, Ms. Starling?"   
  
If the potential was there, Lecter would have smelled it on her like a musk.   
  
"That's what he was attracted to, Dr. Doemling. You think he looked at her and saw another victim, but you couldn't be more wrong. He looked at her and saw a consort."  
  
And she saw what?   
  
Something she hadn't had in over two decades... a constant.   
  



	11. Chapter 11

**PART 11**

  
  
He heard her voice and jumped the slightest bit.   
  
"I understand you're looking for me, Mr. Graham."   
  
A striking woman came to stand beside the chair next to his on the deck. Her photos didn't do her justice, he noted.   
  
"Clarice Starling."   
  
It was not a question.   
  
She made no reply, simply inclined her head slightly and offered him the hint of a smile.   
  
"May I?"   
  
"Um.. yes, " he stammered, "please."   
  
She settled into her chair and regarded him with an intense scrutiny.   
  
"I take it the late Mr. Crawford is responsible for your sudden interest in my welfare?"   
  
Graham was taken aback by an eerily familiar undercurrent in her tone that made his flesh crawl. Was it unconscious on her part, or was she _playing_ with him?   
  
"Uh..." _Get a grip, for crissakes!_ "Jack was very worried about you, Agent Starling."   
  
"It's not _Agent_ Starling anymore, Will. May I call you Will?" He nodded and she went on. "Clarice will do... or Starling, if you prefer." She allowed several beats to pass in silence before moving on. He studied her profile as she looked out across the beach to the water, but could read very little.   
  
"Jack was worried about me, was he? How touching."   
  
"I was under the impression that you and Jack were friends."   
  
She arched an eyebrow, released a heavy sigh.   
  
"I suppose we were. You were friends with him, too, weren't you?" She turned her face to him now. "Tell me, would Jack have been the friend you'd choose to take your back going into a tight spot?"   
  
She waited, registered what came into his eyes.   
  
"So you understand."   
  
"Understand _you_? I'm not sure if that's possible."   
  
"I'm disappointed, Will. I'd heard you were better than that... or are you only good with what you know?"   
  
He flinched quite visibly. She remained impassive.   
  
"You sound like him."  
  
"Jack?" she asked with exaggerated innocence.   
  
"Dr. Lecter."   
  
"Ah." A pause. An altogether disconcerting gleam in her eye as she continued. "I suspect he'd be pleased to hear that you think so."   
  
_"Jack?"_ Graham responded in a shrilly challenging tone that was more appropriate for a school yard.   
  
"Hannibal," she replied calmly. "If you don't mind my saying so, you sound a bit overwrought. Maybe you should find yourself a good psychiatrist." She couldn't quite keep the hint of a smirk from appearing at the corners of her mouth as she added, "It's done wonders for me."   
  
"So you have been with him." He was suddenly working very hard to control the nausea threatening to overtake him. He took several deep breaths as she spoke.   
  
"I can't imagine any evidence that might point to that conclusion."   
  
"I'm not wired, Ms. Starling. You don't have to be that careful with what you say." He risked meeting her eyes. "Besides, I had the impression that you were more forthcoming in your discussions."   
  
The eyebrow went up again.   
  
"Not always."   
  
"Not often, I'd guess."   
  
She inclined her head in acknowledgment.   
  
"As I said, I'm not wired...."   
  
"No, I suspect you're not. I can't imagine anyone in the Bureau, other than Jack, who might trust you enough to use you now... at least that's what I've read. Or am I mistaken in the assumption that you're on your own with this?"   
  
He offered no answer.   
  
"If it makes you feel any better, I most definitely know how it feels to be cast aside by the Bureau." She paused, a bitter smile passing over her lips. "So, tell me, Will Graham, what exactly is it that we're doing here?"   
  
"I told you, Jack was worried about you. He asked me to try and find you."   
  
"Jack is dead." The chill in her voice was disconcerting in the extreme.   
  
He shrugged.   
  
"I expect he assumed I'd been abducted... or worse."   
  
"He thought Dr. Lecter might... keep you alive for awhile."   
  
A genuine laugh escaped her at this.   
  
"It shouldn't surprise me." Amusement shone in her eyes. "So he came asking you to help him save me from a fate worse than death."   
  
Graham looked away, unable to meet her steady gaze, afraid of what he might see in her eyes. He said nothing, simply looked out over the expanse of beach stretching in front of him. She followed his line of sight for a long moment before bringing her attention back to his profile.   
  
"We both know Crawford didn't seek you out just to check up on me. He wanted you to catch Hannibal, yes?"   
  
Hannibal. That was the second time she had tossed out his given name without so much as a pause. To Graham, that seemed monumental in its casual familiarity. He found himself wondering just how intimate they were. How much intimacy was Lecter capable of?   
  
His eyes came back to her, searching for some sign of... ownership.   
  
"He did mention something to that effect."   
  
_ Come to think of it, why would he let her come here on her own... was he **that** sure of her?_   
  
Graham shifted uncomfortably in his chair, suddenly more aware of just how vulnerable he was.   
  
She fixed him with a formidable stare, her manner grave.   
  
"What did he say to make you agree to it? It must have been terribly persuasive."   
  
"Jack could be a persuasive man, Ms. Starling. Surely you know that."   
  
She studied him for a long moment.   
  
"Or maybe he had to die to convince you."   
  
He flinched again, and this time she smiled.   
  
"You're a quick study."   
  
"I have an exceptional teacher."   
  
"Speaking of your..." he spat out the word, "_teacher_... I'm surprised he didn't come with you."   
  
"Will."  
  
Graham snapped around violently at the sound of Lecter's voice.   
  
"Surely Jackie-Boy warned you about the dangers of making assumptions."   
  
He seemed frozen for a moment and then grasped the arms of his chair in preparation for standing.   
  
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."   
  
Her voice.   
  
He turned his head back towards her. He was not surprised to see a pistol trained on him.   
  
"Don't get up on my account."   
  
Lecter smiled and moved to stand behind Starling's chair, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. She leaned back into his touch but did not relax her aim. The gun remained leveled at Graham.   
  
"I suspect Jack brought you former Special Agent Starling's file along with mine, so you must know that she's an excellent shot - even without the benefit of such close range."   
  
Graham looked at the pair of them for a moment and understood that he was going to die. The knowledge afforded him a curious sense of freedom.   
  
"I didn't think you liked guns, Dr. Lecter. Aren't they a little merciful for your tastes?"   
  
The Doctor laughed at that, and the chill of fear returned. It coiled like a snake at the base of his spine.   
  
"Not the gun, Will. Nothing so easy, I'm afraid."   
  
"And if I force her hand?"   
  
"Then you will continue our discussion in some considerable pain, but I assure you Clarice will _not _shoot to kill. When you die, it will be by my hand, not hers."   
  



	12. Chapter 12

**PART 12**

  
  
"Why now, Dr. Lecter?"   
  
"You invited me, Will."   
  
Hadn't he known even before he opened that first goddam file that it would end like this, face to face with Lecter?   
  
"You're suggesting that I've become suicidal?"   
  
"Not at all." A cruel smile. "You don't have the courage. You're just self destructive."   
  
Lecter punctuated this remark with a pointed glance at the Cuervo bottle sitting on the deck next to Will's chair.   
  
In spite of his fear, Graham bristled with anger. Once again, the doctor had unerringly hit his mark.   
  
"I've managed better than most who had the misfortune to cross your path."   
  
"Do you think so, Will? Truly?" Cold maroon eyes watched him intently for a long moment. "Why take such an interest in my companion, then?"   
  
The hands resting on Clarice Starling's shoulders moved in closer to her throat, thumbs stroking her neck. The eyes stayed fixed on their target.   
  
Graham was stopped short. The careless intimacy in the gesture told him far more than he ever wanted to know.   
  
"I..."   
  
Lecter raised an anticipatory eyebrow.   
  
Graham's mouth moved, tried to form an answer. Finally he gave up and met the dark eyes of the woman sitting across from him.   
  
"Why?"   
  
She shook her head with a long sigh.   
  
"I doubt I could give you an answer that would satisfy you."   
  
Will opened his mouth to respond, but it was Lecter's voice that filled the silence.   
  
"That's not _really_ what interests you, Will. Haven't you managed to define it for yourself at least?" He went on without waiting for a response. "You see certain surface similarities between Clarice and yourself, don't you? And what is the most obvious difference that you see, hmm? Would you care to attempt an answer, or shall I go on?"   
  
He looked to Graham expectantly.   
  
"All right, Dr. Lecter, I'll play." A pause, his eyes briefly meeting the doctor's placid gaze. A deep breath before looking away and plunging ahead with a single word. "Fear."   
  
"Very good." Graham heard the sharp edge of sarcasm in the hiss of Lecter's voice. "Fear. Clarice's apparent lack of it is beyond your ability to comprehend, isn't it? How is it possible to remain sanguine in the presence of evil? That's certainly a feat you've found _yourself_ incapable of." Lecter's eyes narrowed. "For all your proficiency in conjuring the sinister, it's never come without fear, has it, Will? You cultivate it, cling to it like a shield. You believe that without it, you'll topple into the abyss, don't you?" A pause, no doubt to savor the moment as the color drained from Graham's face and his breathing quickened into shallow gasps. "Your question, Will, is whether that ceaseless fear is a dubious sign of righteousness..." The words came out in a venomous sneer. "... or simply a show of weakness."   
  
"No!"   
  
Lecter calmly arched his eyebrows in a question. The response was a desperate whisper, forced out from between clinched teeth.   
  
"You're wrong."   
  
"Enlighten me."   
  
Graham's eyes flickered uncomfortably to Starling and then moved to consider the waves crashing at the shoreline. He leaned forward in his chair, unconsciously reaching for the bottle at his feet. Lecter came forward swiftly and snatched it up just as Will's hand brushed the glass. The two men regarded one another, and then without a word the doctor straightened, brought the bottle to the empty glass, and poured.   
  



	13. Chapter 13

**PART 13**

  
  
Will Graham stared at the glass. He had an insane impulse to pick it up and throw the tequila in Lecter's face. He did not act on it, nor did he look too closely at whether it had been caution or the need to retain the liquor that stopped him.   
  
His eyes went back to Lecter's. The doctor was looking at him calmly, waiting. He held the bottle by his side, and was positioned between Graham and Starling's gun.   
  
Graham's leg struck out, his foot making contact with glass. The bottle flew from the doctor's hand and shattered on the boards of the deck. Will had no illusions that this would afford him the means to escape, but his anger required that he act. He moved to stand.   
  
Lecter's reaction was swift and extreme. His eyes clouded with anger and a blade appeared in his hand. Graham blanched. It was a twin to the linoleum knife Lecter had used years before in that godforsaken hallway. He saw the recognition in Graham's eyes, and his lips drew back from sharp, white teeth in a satisfied smile.   
  
"Sit, Will. We're not finished."   
  
Graham forced himself to look away from the knife and meet the doctor's cold stare.   
  
"What's left, Dr. Lecter?"  
  
"You obviously have some curiosity in regards to former Special Agent Starling, Will, and I gave her my word that you would have the chance to satisfy it."   
  
Graham stood a moment longer, and then lowered himself back into the chair with a weary sigh. He looked past the doctor to the woman who was still sitting placidly behind him, the gun now resting in her lap.   
  
"Why should you care?"   
  
"I don't particularly. I thought you did, though. You've paid a high enough price for the privilege."   
  
Lecter snorted, shook his head.   
  
"Clarice is laboring under the misguided impression that you deserve the opportunity to examine your life before I end it."   
  
He moved back toward her chair as he spoke, leaning almost casually against the railing just to her left. Her eyes followed him, and his attention turned to her as he settled himself.   
  
Graham watched them with numb fascination, picking up the glass that still rested at his side.   
  
"We really must do something about controlling your more compassionate impulses, My Love." His words were accompanied by an indulgent smile.   
  
"I'll see what I can do," she murmured, returning his smile with one of her own.   
  
"Do what you must, Clarice, but this is becoming tedious."   
  
She turned her attention from him then, dark eyes fixing Graham with a discomfiting stare.   
  
"Exactly what answers do you want from me, Mr. Graham? And I'd suggest that you come to the point. You don't have much time left to ask your questions."   
  
He seemed surprised that he should be the focus of her attention, sheepishly returning the glass to its place on the arm of his chair.   
  
"How do you expect me to respond to that, Ms. Starling?"   
  
"Don't be coy. We're here because you thought I might provide you with answers. You went to far too much trouble to give up now, don't you think?" She paused. When she spoke again, her voice was hard, mocking. "Or would you just prefer to finish your drink and have it done?"   
  
He recoiled as though she had slapped him.   
  
"What are you?"   
  
"A woman, Mr. Graham, just that... certainly not your Rosetta Stone."   
  
"I don't..." He trailed off, shaking his head.   
  
"I think you do. You can't bring yourself to admit that you already have your answers, because you don't like what you see. What you'd like to hear is that Hannibal dragged me away kicking and screaming, that he brainwashed me. You need to believe that he seduced me, that I stumbled. That would make it all fit nicely into place for you, wouldn't it? If I'm a victim, that means that you've managed to escape. I didn't have the sense to be afraid, and look where it's gotten me."   
  
"No! How could I want...?"   
  
She ignored his protests and went on.   
  
"I'm no victim, Will. I know exactly what Hannibal is. He doesn't frighten me. He doesn't sicken me. He's simply what I want."   
  
Graham stared at her for long minutes, his eyes wide in disbelief. When he managed to speak, it came out in a choked whisper.   
  
"How?"   
  
"Because he is."   
  
"That's not an answer."   
  
"It's the best answer I have. Your mistake is thinking that my choice is going to tell you what you want to know about yourself."   
  
"You think you had a choice?"   
  
"Of course, I did. So did you. You chose to be a victim."   
  
His voice rose in agitation.   
  
"You have_ no idea _what you're talking about!"   
  
"Don't I?" Her eyes narrowed. "You have an ability to understand impulses that horrify you. You tell yourself that you're afraid of it because you're drawn to the darkness, but that's not quite true. You're afraid that the horror will overwhelm you, so you prefer to believe that you've had to struggle to conquer your baser impulses through sheer determination. It lets you pretend you have some strength."   
  
"Is that what _he_ told you?" Graham glared at Lecter, who was watching the proceedings with interest from his perch on the edge of the deck.   
  
"He didn't need to. What drives you is fear. That much is obvious. What does that do for a man's self-image? I can understand why you'd need to find a more honorable reason for it."   
  
She paused, gave him the opportunity to respond. He could only stare at her, mouth agape.   
  
"Did you honestly think that we were so much alike? Jack, the FBI, some experience with Hannibal... am I missing anything else that might have misled you? Beyond a cursory examination, Mr. Graham, you and I are worlds apart. You've been chasing a dead end." She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, not quite waiting for a response. Then... "Perhaps that's not quite right. For all our differences, we do have one thing very much in common."   
  
"What could you_ possibly _think we have in common?" He spat out the words. "I can't imagine what that might be, anymore."   
  
"We've both spent far too much of our lives reliant on fantasies. You've spent the last 15 years trying to believe that what you fear most is real. I spent that same time trying to believe that what I wanted most was. I believed in a noble little fairy tale while you invested in a nightmare, but at the end of the day it all amounts to the same thing... wasted time. I'm fortunate. I have an opportunity for change." There was no trace of remorse as she concluded, "You've run out of time altogether, I'm afraid."   
  
_ Afraid? You?_   
  
Graham caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye as he stared at the woman in front of him. Lecter, pushing away from the railing as if this were his cue to rejoin the conversation.   
  
_ You must be proud of your protege, Doctor. She's obviously learned a great deal during her months with you. Or maybe she's just obscenely well-suited to you without the benefit of instruction._   
  
The sound of Dr. Lecter's voice claimed his attention.   
  
"Surely this is sufficient, Clarice. As riveting as this... plodding journey towards enlightenment is, I believe Will and I have some unfinished business to attend to."   
  



	14. Chapter 14

**PART 14**

  
  
Unfinished business.   
  
Graham's blood turned to ice in his veins at the thought.   
  
The Doctor moved towards him, knife once again prominent in his hand. Graham shrank back into his chair, hands clutching the arms. His attention was so focused on the glint of Lecter's blade that he barely registered the sound of glass shattering as the tumbler fell to the deck.   
  
Ever the gentleman, Dr. Lecter stopped a respectful distance from the other man.   
  
"Perhaps you and I might step inside, Will."   
  
Graham blinked, working hard to process the request.   
  
"Inside?"   
  
"Inside," Lecter repeated.   
  
He moved forward only a fraction, but his message was clear.   
  
Graham stared up at him, making no effort to rise from his chair.   
  
"Why bother?"   
  
"Will, my patience has already been stretched to its breaking point. I would advise you not to try it further."   
  
Graham barked a desperate laugh.   
  
"Or what? You'll kill me?"   
  
"On the contrary... I'll see to it that you live."   
  
Lecter held Graham's gaze until the other man averted his eyes, staring down at the shattered tumbler littering the weathered boards. Dr. Lecter stood perfectly still. Graham sat shaking, unsure whether fear or rage had provoked it. After what seemed an eternity, his shoulders slumped and he rose to his feet.   
  
Will looked to Starling. She met his eyes but made no move to join them. He followed her gaze as it traveled out over the waves.   
  
He thought of Molly then. How he had loved to watch her when she looked out over the ocean. She had radiated a peace that he would never know.   
  
_Peace._   
  
He brought his attention back to Lecter, and moved slowly toward the door.   
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
  
  
Dr. Lecter followed Will into his shabby living room, fixing him with a cold stare when he turned around.   
  
"One of your strengths was reading crime scenes, no? Would you like to know what the investigators assigned to your case will find, Will?"   
  
Graham stared at him, head nodding almost imperceptibly.   
  
"Yes?" A predatory gleam flashed through Lecter's maroon eyes. "How did you know?"   
  
The response came, forced from Will's lips without benefit of any real sound.   
  
"The bowhunter... Wound Man."   
  
The Doctor graced him with a benevolent smile.   
  
"It seems trite to repeat myself, I know; but in your case I'm willing to make an exception... for old time's sake." A pause. "Pity Jackie-Boy is gone. He might have managed to generate some appreciation for the irony."   
  
Somehow, Will found his voice. Perhaps it was the force of his anger at the obvious delight Lecter took in this game.   
  
"_She_ will, I'm sure."   
  
Lecter arched an eyebrow.   
  
"Clarice does enjoy my sense of humor."   
  
"Then why leave her out there?"   
  
"This has nothing to do with Clarice, Will. It started without her, and that is how I intend to finish it."   
  
Graham made no move to retreat as the Doctor advanced on him. He stood where he was, eyes fixed on the familiar blade. He didn't notice the syringe until he felt the needle prick his skin.   
  
"You can understand, Will... I need to insure that you remain cooperative. I loathe being rushed, and there is the possibility that you might get... impatient."   
  
Dr. Lecter lowered him to the floor, watching his eyes with avid fascination. His lips curled into an unpleasant smile as horrified recognition came into those eyes.   
  
"I see you know what I've given you."   
  
He knew. Trust Lecter to think of it. It would have been succinylcholine or some other paralytic. He would be unable to move, but still very much aware of what was happening to him... at least for awhile.   
  
Will Graham met the pitiless stare, heard the voice that had haunted him these last 15 years as the knife pierced his abdomen.   
  
"Let's pick up where we left off, shall we?"   
  



	15. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

  
  
When Lecter rejoined Clarice some time later, he found her standing at the railing of the weathered deck, staring at the moonlight shimmering over the water.   
  
"It's done, then?"   
  
Her gaze remained fixed on the ocean.   
  
"Yes, it's done."   
  
She turned to face him.   
  
"May I?"   
  
"I insist."   
  
She nodded and made her way to the door, her hand brushing along his forearm as she passed him. She paused for a beat before crossing the threshold.   
  
Will Graham's body was exactly as the Doctor had promised him it would be. There was no peg board this time. The corpse was arranged on the floor in the center of the room. There were also_ personal_ touches. The linoleum knife lay at Will's feet. His right hand held a crime scene photo of Lecter's 6th victim and the _National Tattler_ article that had attracted Lecter's attention.   
  
Starling studied the scene with no obvious reaction, while Lecter stood just inside the door, watching her.   
  
When his voice broke the silence, it held the edge of a chill.   
  
"How does it feel, _former_ Special Agent Starling, to be reminded of the choices you've made?"   
  
She turned to face him, her placid gaze meeting his rapacious stare.   
  
"Far less disturbing than it should, Doctor."   
  
She answered him simply and then turned back to survey the scene once more. Almost as an afterthought, she breathed a bemused chuckle.   
  
"If Crawford wasn't dead already, this would have killed him."   
  
The Doctor offered her a rich laugh, eyes flashing.   
  
"One could only hope, Clarice."   
  
He moved forward and slipped his arms around her waist, pausing to admire his handiwork over her shoulder before nuzzling the side of her neck. She smiled and settled against him.   
  
"What now? Back to the Chesapeake?"   
  
"I think that's best for the moment. It should be some time before Will is discovered, and then the search will most likely be focused here... perhaps the islands."   
  
"It's a long drive," she sighed. "We should get started soon."   
  
"Mmm...I suppose you're right. " She could hear the amusement in his voice. "We'll leave right after dinner."   
  
  


**FIN**


End file.
